


Silk, Satin, and Lace

by orphan_account



Series: A Natural Response [2]
Category: Big Hero 6 (2014)
Genre: Anal Sex, Begging, Bot Fighting, Crying, Feminization, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Objectification, Oral Sex, Praise Kink, Protective Older Brothers, Punishment, Safe Sane and Consensual, Safewords, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-03
Updated: 2015-02-03
Packaged: 2018-03-10 06:46:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3280697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>Tadashi's eyes bore into the side of his head, surprised and hungry. “Oh,” he murmurs,  hands spreading across the globes of his arse and squeezing lightly. “You like this.”</em><br/> </p><p>Or, Hiro's tired of waiting and takes matters into his own hands.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Silk, Satin, and Lace

**Author's Note:**

> heyyy look guys i finally wrote the second installment in the NS verse  
> *laughs nervously*  
> i was totally taking this long on purpose  
> i didn't have writer's block what are you talking about

The last time Hiro was in a bot fight was months ago; after all, he'd promised Tadashi, Aunt Cass, several police officers, three shop owners, six small children, and one particularly concerned fire fighter that he would stop fighting in bot fights as long as he attended SFIT. And he'd planned on following through with his promises. After all, he wasn't so dishonorable that he would break one mass promise to somewhere over twenty-three different people. He had some integrity, after all.

Not to mention, for the past few months, Hiro's been far too busy trying to … _distract_ Tadashi. He's snuck past the divider that split their shared room and surprised him under the sheets in the morning, taunted him during lunch and at dinner, cornered him in bathroom stalls, locked them both in his private lab, and on one particularly memorable occasion, had dragged him into a Ferris wheel and had made surprisingly good use of the ten minute ride. For the most part, Tadashi has submitted willingly, letting Hiro push him against walls and swallow him down, had muffled Hiro's cries with a hand as he jerked him off from behind—but not once has he ever put his pretty cock where Hiro wants it most.

He was originally willing to wait patiently, but the closest he could come to Tadashi fucking him senseless was letting his brother use the vibrator he had bought all those months ago on him far too gently and sweetly. As much as Hiro adores that vibrator, he wants  _Tadashi_ , and he wants him as rough and demanding as physically possible _._ But after months of waiting, how could anyone blame Hiro for resorting back to sex toys in an attempt to satisfy his increasing sexual frustration? He's a teenager, after all—he has to find _some_ way to get himself off.

Not that this fact makes him any less humiliated from his apparent inability to successfully seduce his brother, and he glances over his shoulder in a habitual, guilty manner as he hovers his pointer over the zoom button to enlarge an image of bright purple anal beads. If he adds these to his cart, he will be the owner of these, a shiny silver cock ring, a ball gag, handcuffs, a large assortment of ribbons, and several pairs of crotchless panties.

He can picture himself wearing each and every one of them; imagines slipping on the scraps of lace that barely pass as underwear up his legs to cling to his slim hips, pictures himself squirming as he rubs against the rougher fabric of his jeans in all the right ways. He sees himself tied up with shiny silk ribbons, hands bound behind his back or above his head, the thickest of the ribbons wrapped around his straining cock; in handcuffs like a naughty thief, gagged with saliva trailing down his chin, ready to be punished; and shivering and whimpering, draped over his bed and stuffed full, quivering prick locked tight in his cock ring.

He flushes as he feels a trickle of drool spill down his chin and wipes his mouth hurriedly.

His brother lets out a particularly noisy snore, and Hiro stiffens, glancing at the divider that separates their room, fingers frozen on his mouse until Tadashi's obnoxiously loud snorts die down slightly. He bites his lips and scrolls down, adding it to his cart and clicking to save and exit out of the page before he slips back to his bed and dives beneath the covers.

As breathlessly enthusiastic as Hiro is to buy these, the excitement of the situation is dimmed by the fact that he can't quite afford all these. What with his bot-fighting career past him and Tadashi's refusal to let him begin working (“You should be focusing on your schoolwork, and besides, Aunt Cass needs us to help out around the cafe!”), Hiro has no way to fund his particular tastes.

 _There's really only one solution,_ he tells himself. _You have to start bot fighting again._ The idea is slightly thrilling—after all, it's been months, so he's a bit out of practice, and he'll have to rework his way into San Fransokyo's underbelly—but he'll have to be careful, what with too many angry ex-competitors recognizing his face and his bot.

Not to mention, he couldn't let his brother find out. If he remembers anything about his bot-fighting days, it was his brother's suspicious ability to find him no matter where he battled, be it in the worst slums of San Fransokyo or at some foolish rich kid's house. It would be bad enough with his brother finding out that he'd broken his promise, let alone find out _why._

Hiro burrows himself deeper under his sheets, trying to calm himself out of his high. He'll be able to work out the logistics of his plan in the morning. No one has to know a thing. And if he feels any guilt prickling the tips of his fingers, well, no one knows anything about that, either.

* * *

He gets the idea from Fred.

“Don't take this the wrong way, dude, but you have the perfect figure for cosplay,” the youth tells him cheerfully, taking a large bite out of his sandwich. “Seriously!”

They're sitting together at lunch with Wasabi, Honey, and Gogo, enjoying the heat of late summer spread out on one of Honey's beautifully sewn picnic blankets eating a basket of food Wasabi had made the night prior. It's a lovely day, if a bit hot, and Hiro is half sprawled on the ground as he eats, ignoring Wasabi's admonishing entreaties to get him to sit up and eat properly.

Hiro blinks at him, oddly flattered. “Thank you?”

“Where did that come from?” Wasabi looks at Fred strangely, fingers poised to pick up a nigiri.

Fred shrugs as he leans back, oblivious to Wasabi's wince. “It seemed like the right thing to say. But seriously, man, you could dress up for a bunchload of things! You could be an avatar, a spy kid, a magical girl—”

“Magical girl?” Gogo interrupts, scoffing. “I don't think Hiro has quite the temperament for a magical girl.” She glances him over skeptically before popping a dumpling into her mouth. “Too morally ambiguous.”

“I think Hiro would look adorable as Sailor Saturn, though!” Honey gushes, leaning forward to rest her chin in her hands.

“You're right, he would,” Fred agrees enthusiastically, eyeing Hiro, who blinks in confusion before shaking his head.

“Wait, wait. You think I'd look good in a girl costume?”

“Yeah, you have the figure for it!” Honey smiles brightly. “I bet I could whip up a sailor outfit for you in a month or two …”

But Hiro stops listening as the gears in his mind begin whirling. _Figure for it._ He can wear feminine clothing and people will think he's a girl. “I could pass as girl?”

“With a little makeup and some hairstyling,” Honey amends. “Although, it probably won't last much longer. You are fifteen, after all.”

“You should feel honored,” Fred says sagely. “There are lots of cos-players and transgender peoples who would be very jealous of you.”

That was days ago. Now, Hiro stands in front of the bathroom mirror, toying nervously with the neckline of the blouse he'd nicked from the attic. He isn't used to wearing makeup, and the powders and liquids feel heavy on his face. As far as he can tell, he's done a mostly competent job; he'd rounded out his cheekbones and softened his jawline, even made his lips plumper and poutier.

Honey was right—at fifteen, his uncanny ability to pass as both female and male will end soon. He'd pulled on on of Aunt Cass's puffy jackets to conceal the way his shoulders are broadening, and he knows he'll have to talk far softer and quieter to conceal the way his voice has begun to deepen. Still, his thin frame and pale, neatly-shaved legs gracefully accentuate what femininity he has, and he's managed to wrestle his hair into neat, delicate pin curls using copious amounts of hairspray and styling creams he borrowed from Fred.

He looks … cute.

It's a strangely pleasant surprise; beyond simply the relief of the disguise, he can nearly pass for a young woman about his age, if slightly younger, and a particularly pretty one at that. He runs a finger over the rosebud pink of his lower lip, tugging lightly at his skirt. Aunt Cass's school uniform, despite being an old-fashioned seifuku, clings to his hips and squeezes his waist in slightly, giving him a faintly curvy appearance. With a cleverly stuffed brassiere and a number of pins raising the hem of his skirt, he looks like an average rich girl attending a private academy in upper San Fransokyo, one who'd fancied the idea of rebellion and believed she'd find it in bot-fighting. Perfect for fooling the foolish criminals of the underbelly into underestimating her. Er, him. It would be an especially sweet satisfaction to see the shocked, disbelieving faces of criminals who'd bet against him simply because he didn't seem intimidating because of his "gender".

He straightens and grabs his bag, shouldering it comfortably as he creeps out of his room and down the stairs. The television is murmuring softly; Aunt Cass's favorite crime drama is finishing up its marathon as she snores on the couch. More likely than not, she won't wake until morning. Tadashi is undoubtedly still at the lab, finishing up the final touches of his latest project, and will almost certainly fall asleep there, drooling all over his lab notes and half-sprawled over tools stolen from Wasabi's station.

He can't quite remember what it had been like his first time sneaking out to go bot-fighting all those years ago, but he's almost certain that it must have felt almost exactly like this. Well, minus the skirt and winged eyeliner.

* * *

For the thirteenth time in two months, Hiro stands nervously in front of the dark, calculating glowers of the low-life criminals surrounding him, twiddling nervously with the baby-pink gauze of his new tutu. The bot-fighter across from him, a woman in her early twenties wearing a brown leather jacket and a metallic green dress that barely hits mid-thigh, glances down his sequined silver hoodie and smirks at the sight of the lacy white corset that peeks out. Her eyes meet his, flushed with want that makes his skin heat. He wonders vaguely if Tadashi would look at him the same way.

At this point, Hiro can no longer deny the fact that he isn't doing this just for the money. In fact, Hiro wonders if he could even say that money is truly a factor. He'd gotten more than enough from his winning just after the first three scams. No, it's the adrenaline rush, not of sneaking out, but the one that comes from swishing around in skirts that barely cover the tops of his thighs, his sparkly pink hoodies and petal-pink lip gloss, from how vulnerable he feels with the wanting, hungry gazes and the slight, trembling fear that comes from casting demure, fluttering glances towards smirking strangers and always dancing just out of their reach.

He knows this can't quite be normal. He's well aware of the fact that many women experience this sort of fear on a daily basis, knows that women have learned to carry keys between their fingers and walk in groups, constantly harassed by catcalls and creepy men who think they're being funny and who typically never receive a lashing for their absurd immaturity. He can't help but feel guilty for how much he enjoys this, but the shame of his strange deviance is not enough to quell the excitement of giving his lookers soft, demure glances, desperately trying to hide the way his flushed, leaking prick strains against the soft lace of his panties and nudges at the fabric of his skirts.

“Why don't we raise the stakes,” the bot-fighter says softly, and the others all fall silent at her voice. “How about ten thousand yen?”

“I don't have that much money,” Hiro whispers. He really doesn't—even now, after winning most of his bot-fights in the past weeks, the most he has in his account is just above 5000 yen.

“The light curve of her mouth deepens, and he bites his lips, fixated on the gleam of her eyes. “It's okay, kiddo. You'll only have to pay if you lose, and then we can find some way for you to pay me back.”

Hiro swallows hard, knowing exactly what that could mean. He's made it to the last round—there are no take-backs, no rematches to play after this fight ends. He's still a little rusty from neglecting bot-fighting for so long, and judging by the look in the other fighter's eyes, she has more to fight for than simply ten thousand yen. He's certainly inexperienced, though he has a slight notion that the bot-fighter is anything but and would be more than happy to enlighten him. Hiro can't help but shiver in pleasure at the thought.

He wins the fight in a too-close victory, just barely managing to behead the head of the other bot before it scattered the pieces of his bot too far for them to regroup. He'd been distracted the entire fight, feeling the burning gaze of the other fighter locked on the slight peek of lacy white underwear peeking out from beneath his tutu, hunching over uncomfortably and keeping his legs crossed in a desperate attempt to hide his too-hard prick and the tiny damp spot it was beginning to leave on his underwear.

“Too bad,” the bot-fighter drawls, forking over her winnings to Hiro's outstretched hands and tossing her lovely dark hair gracefully over her shoulder. Her hands linger slightly beneath his, gentle and strong, and Hiro flushes. “Next time, then. And, kid …” She leans down to murmur in his ear, and he can feel her broad smile. “You should probably find another pair of panties to wear. Looks like you pretty little cock ruined those.”

Her tongue darts out along the delicate skin of her lip as Hiro squeaks, tugging frantically at his skirt, and she strokes one feather-light finger up his neck, nudging his chin up to look at her. “Such a sweetie pie,” she breathes, and Hiro flushes.

He doesn't get the chance to answer (although what he would have answered, he doesn't know) because a hard, angry hand appears on his shoulder, tugging him back to face the wild, angry expression of his brother, breathing hard, helmet strapped messily to his head.

Hiro gasps and squirms, face burning with surprise and embarrassment. “T—Tadashi! I—Nii-chan, what are you doing here? I thought you were sleeping. At home.”

Tadashi's eyes trail down to focus on the tight It seems he's finally realized what his little brother is wearing, and red begins to creep slowly up his neck. “What on earth are you _wearing?”_ he chokes out, and Hiro flushes, swallowing hard and pushing down the front of his tutu nervously.

“Uhh. What I always wear?” Hiro manages in a nervous squeak, flushing deeply, and Tadashi stares at him incredulously. He clears his throat and tries again, trying to adopt the soft, high-pitched tone he's been using, still trying to keep up the facade. “H-how did you _find_ me?”

Tadashi's eyes flick up and down his form once, twice, three times before he meets Hiro's gaze. Hiro almost wants to laugh; his brother seems to be struggling, trying to decide if this choice of clothing is a closeted form of gender expression that he should be supporting or if Hiro's just being an idiot. Hiro would like to think it's a little bit of both. “Not important,” he manages, and straightens, crossing his arms firmly _._ “We need to go home.”

Hiro rearranges his curls nervously. “W-Well, I mean—you aren't—I, I'm not—”

“Hey, let the girl have a little fun,” a voice purrs, and one of the men who had been watching him before slinks up behind him, slipping an arm around his waist. “We promise, we won't do anything to her. That she doesn't want us to do,” he adds under his breath, and Hiro stiffens, face flaming bright red.

Tadashi's face darkens. “Let's go, Hiro,” he says pointedly, and tugs Hiro away, nudging him onto the back of his scooter. “You and I are going to _talk_ once we get home,” he hisses in his ear, and Hiro clutches at the handlebars and gulps when Tadashi covers them, grip tight and forbidding.

* * *

It's well past midnight—the noises of the city are distant, muffled through the pale fog that seeps through the streets like midnight creatures risen from the depths of the bay. Aunt Cass is in her room, asleep; if one paused to listen hard enough, the sounds of her snores would drift up to the room where Tadashi stands, arms crossed, in front of Hiro, who sits on the edge of his mattress with his shoulders bowed and his head lowered.

“You're bot-fighting,” Tadashi says evenly, voice dangerously calm, “in order to pay for _these.”_ He twirls the handcuffs around a finger, and Hiro flinches as he tosses them into his lap. Right now, he's not the authoritative, gentle, teasing older brother, but rather the father figure whose disapproval burns in Hiro's bones and creates an awful, aching hole in his chest.

“Tadashi—” He tries desperately, but Tadashi shakes his head, and Hiro falls silent.

“You promised Aunt Cass—you promised _me_ that you wouldn't be doing this sort of thing anymore.” He begins to stride back and forth in agitation, running his hands through his hair. “I thought you'd stopped after you were accepted into SFIT. Were—were you lying this whole time?”

“Dashi, no,” Hiro pleads. “I didn't—I swear, I wasn't trying to—”

“Wasn't trying to _what?”_ Tadashi breaks him off. “Trying to hurt anybody? Hiro, you just snuck out in the middle of the night—you know San Fransokyo isn't always safe at night, especially where you went! You could've gotten hurt, you could've—”

He breaks off with a growl of frustration, grabbing Hiro by the forearms and shaking him slightly.

“Does it even occur to you how _worried_ I was?” Tadashi whispers urgently, and Hiro makes a tiny, quavering noise, looking up at his older brother with wide, glassy eyes and a trembling mouth.

Something in Tadashi's expression breaks, and he pulls Hiro to him, cradling him gently in his arms and burying his face in his hair. “Gods, _Hiro.”_

“I'm sorry,” Hiro tells him, voice shaking. “I'm really sorry, okay? I—I won't do it again.”

“I know, I know, it's okay, I just— _why?”_ Tadashi presses distracted, nervous kisses around Hiro's temples before he lets his cheek rest atop his brother's head. “I thought—after, after what happened, you'd seemed happy. I was happy, you seemed like you were doing okay, I just—is, is it someone else? Did you find—”

“What—Dashi, _no.”_ Hiro looks up at him, startled. “Of course not.”

“Because—because if it is, someone else—that's okay, as long as you're happy—”

“ _Tadashi.”_ And Hiro stops him there, tugging his brother's face down and kissing him tender and soft, just the way Tadashi likes it, because _holy shit_ is his brother an oblivious idiot.

He pulls away slowly, trailing his fingers down his brother's face, and Tadashi blinks at him. “Oh,” he says awkwardly.

Hiro rolls his eyes. “Yeah. Oh.” He shifts and frowns slightly, tugging the zipper of his sparkly hoodie down and tossing it away haphazardly, much to Tadashi's chagrin. “Shut up and help me take this thing off. I am not sleeping in a _corset.”_

Tadashi's cheeks tinge pink, but he chuckles under his breath all the same. “And whose fault is it that you have a corset on?”

“Yours,” Hiro shoots back, squirming in his older brother's arms, struggling to tug off his thigh-high socks and garter belt. “It's your fault for not helping me— _ugh.”_ He can't quite get his tutu off correctly—the waistband is just a hair too tight to make it come off easily—and ends up sprawled across Tadashi's lap. “Gah, you're useless.”

“I don't know,” Tadashi muses, gripping Hiro's waist and smiling down at him in mock-innocence. “I kind of like where this is going.”

“Help me, asshole,” Hiro says in exasperation, flopping down wearily. “Those bumbling hands of yours have to be good for something.”

“Hey, I resent that!” Tadashi flicks Hiro's thigh teasingly, and Hiro yelps in indignation, squirming in Tadashi's lap.

“Stop screwing around and help me,” Hiro whines, writhing a bit, except now it's turned slightly into rocking, and he freezes as his cock twitches slightly in his white lace panties. (Are boys usually supposed to get hard from laying across their brother's lap like a naughty child ready to be spanked? Because he's fairly sure not.)

Tadashi's eyes bore into the side of his head, surprised and hungry. _“Oh,”_ he murmurs, hands spreading across the globes of his arse and squeezing lightly. “You _like_ this.”

Hiro flushes so deeply he feels his blood grow hot in his extremities, and the corner of Tadashi's mouth curves up in a smirk as his little brother's cheeks tinge pink under his fingers. “Ah … I, um. Well.”

“You're blushing,” he coos, and oh, look, there's the other Tadashi, the one that isn't super nice and supportive and a little bit absent-minded, the one that likes to fuck him with a vibrator and keep him on the edge of coming until he begs for it.

 _Well._ This isn't the direction Hiro thought tonight was going, but there's no way in hell that he's going to stop it.

Tadashi leans forward, nuzzling Hiro's neck lightly. “Safeword?”

“ … Apples is good. And, and peaches is bad,” Hiro mumbles. “Um, and bananas is slow down and pears is stop.”

“Apples and peaches,” Tadashi muses, spreading the globes of Hiro's arse, and his little brother squeaks, arching his back as his cheeks go red. “And bananas and pears. Are you hungry?”

Hiro laughs shakily. “If you leave now and get me food, you're not getting any sex when you get back.”

His brother chuckles under his breath. “Noted. Hiro,” Tadashi says softly, biting his lip nervously. “I want to touch you here.”

 _Fucking finally._ “Apples!” Hiro says hurriedly, wincing when it comes out as a yelp. “That is an a-okay, definitely yes, apple pie with ice cream and _aannngh~”_

He cuts off with a choked gasp as Tadashi leans forward to press one sloppy wet kiss to his pucker, and Hiro lets out a shivery whine when he rolls the tip of his tongue around the rim before pulling back.

“Ah— _ahhh_ —w-wait, where are you—”

“Hush, baby,” Tadashi murmurs, tone just slightly scolding. “After leaving me to worry about you the way you did, I don't think you get to make any demands.”

Hiro shudders and shoves his hand between his brother's thigh and his midsection to grope messily at the bulge in his skirt. “Hurry,” he begs, and Tadashi clucks his tongue reprovingly, putting a firm hand on his wrist.

“I didn't say you could do that.”

“O-Oh,” Hiro whispers shakily, and lets his older brother draw his hand away, pressing it firmly against the bed.

“I can't let you get spoiled,” Tadashi spoke as he nudges Hiro's tutu up his waist, exposing the soft flesh of his arse, barely covered by its scrap of lace. “You understand, right, Hiro?”

Hiro's breath catches in his throat as Tadashi's hand settles on the curve of his bum, squeezing lightly. He's going to— _oh, gods._

“Okay?” Tadashi asks him, and Hiro nods faintly, whispering “apples” before he lets his face fall forward into his bedsheets.

The first hit is startling and sharp, stinging only for a bare moment before the pain dissolves into a heady burn. Hiro gasps and rocks forward into his older brother's thigh, pushed into the movement by the push of Tadashi's hand. A second hit comes in quick succession, then a third, a fourth each forcing him forward to grind smoothly against the rough denim of his brother's jeans.

“Agh—ahhn—Tadashi,” Hiro gasps, and Tadashi slows to a stop, hand still cupping his bum. “N-no, please, don't—I need—”

“Hmm? What is it, baby?” Tadashi squeezes the flesh of his brother's arse in his hands, kneading it firmly. Hiro turns his head to look up at his brother with glazed eyes.

 _Fucking tease._ “Apples,” he whispers miserably, and Tadashi smiles kindly down at him.

The next blows are harsher, each leaving a faint sting, and Hiro has to stifle his cries in the mattress, thighs trembling. They only last for ten more blows, but by this point, Hiro is already so hard he's finding it difficult to think, the tip of his cock a lovely cherry red to match the quickly fading pink handprints littering soft curves of Hiro's rump.

“Apples?” Tadashi asks. Hiro tries to pull himself up, but his limbs are so unsteady that he can't kneel on his hands and knees without them shaking badly.

“A-Apples.” The word comes out as a tiny, broken whisper, and Tadashi coos at him, scooping him into his arms and capturing Hiro's lips in his. Hiro makes a soft sound in his throat and leans into it, breath coming out in stuttering whimpers.

Tadashi pulls away and regards his little brother with a soft, intent expression. “I want you to sit on my chest,” he says after a moment, “and I want you in my mouth so I can taste you.”

There's no room for argument in his tone; even though he knows Tadashi would step back if he just said the word “pears”, Hiro feels vulnerable, exposed, entirely under Tadashi's command. It's a fairly unfamiliar sensation—he's usually one for teasing and snarking at his brother to rile him up—but despite the alien nature of this encounter, he's more than willing to explore this new discovery as much as possible.

“Come on, baby doll. Show me you can be good.” Tadashi's tone is smooth and dulcet, and Hiro wants to bury his face in his brother's chest and let him do whatever he wants to him. “Prove you aren't just a bad little girl.” He leans up and breathes in Hiro's ear, “Naughty girls don't get to come.”

Hiro wants to say something obstinate and rude (probably along the lines of “I'm not a girl”), but his mind is a bit numb, and oddly enough, the only thing that leaves his mouth is a needy whine. He scoots up Tadashi's chest as his brother lays back, biting his lips nervously as his brother tosses his legs over his shoulders. The head of his cock just kisses Tadashi's lips, and he looks up at his brother with hunger in his gaze.

“Look at you,” Tadashi breathes, leaning forward to blow cool air against his the tip of his cock. Hiro shudders, whimpering slightly as his brother noses gently against his foreskin, humming. “All soft and pink. I bet you taste pretty sweet, hm?”

Hiro jolts in alarm, squirming and looking pleadingly down at his brother. Tadashi grins up at him and, without warning, points his tongue and flicks it up the underside of his little brother's cock. A squeaky, shivery whine bursts from Hiro's throat, and he fists his hands in Tadashi's hair, trying desperately not to arch into the touch.

Tadashi hums low in his throat and wraps his arms around his brother's arse, swallowing him down slowly and easily. Hiro jolts, a strangled cry bursting from his lips, and Tadashi takes him by the hips and rocks him back and forth, in and out of his fluttering, pulsing throat.

The sounds that Hiro makes are raw and animalistic, and he flushes in humiliation even as he twitches his hips forward, pushing himself further down his brother's throat. _“Ahh_ —Tadashi, please—” His hands fly back to clutch at his older brother's wrists, hands spasming as Tadashi kneads the flesh of his arse and spreads his cheeks. Almost as if in the distance, he can hear a soft click and a squelching noise, but what that means doesn't quite register in Hiro's head.

“You're shaking, baby,” Tadashi murmurs, voice muffled and words garbled, and Hiro lets out a choked sob at the way his voice makes his throat vibrate, arms trembling madly. “Don't worry, sweet, I've got you.”

One of his fingers, slick with cool lube, nudges gently against his hole, fondly rubbing at the pucker, and slips in easily, curling and wriggling in smooth circles; Hiro shudders and whimpers, drooping over Tadashi's head, and one of Tadashi's hands moves up to rub comforting circles on the small of his back.

 _It's too much,_ Hiro thinks dizzily; he thinks vaguely that he can feel hot tears spilling down his cheeks as his brother slips another finger in. “Nii-chan, I can't—ah, ahh, _ahh—”_

Tadashi hums softly and swallows around Hiro, throat pulsing around him, and Hiro comes with a weak, gasping cry, writhing and jerking deeper down his brother's throat. Tadashi pulls away and smiles up at Hiro, trails of come spilling from his lips and down his chin, and Hiro slides back down Tadashi's chest with a whine, letting his head fall forward to press his brow against his brother's.

“Shh, shh, shh,” Tadashi murmurs, stroking Hiro's head gently. “You did so good, baby girl. I'm so proud of you.” He slides a third finger in, curving his fingers as the rim flutters around them.

“ _Dashi.”_ Hiro rubs his cheek against the tip of his brother's nose, and Tadashi tilts his face up to press soft, distracting kisses along his cheekbone and temple.

“You're so good for me, Hiro,” he coos. “Wish you knew how well you're loosening up for me. Such a good little girl. So well-behaved.”

“Tadashi, _please.”_

“Perfect little girl,” Tadashi whispers, and pulls his fingers from Hiro slowly, one by one, nudging him around and scooting him forward on his hands and knees. He spreads him gently, eyeing him critically for damage or need for more preparation, and, satisfied, presses a wet, sucking kiss to the pucker, humming as Hiro jerks and squeals at the touch. “Look, baby, you're ready for me.”

“Please don't tease me,” Hiro begs, and Tadashi coos words of comfort into his ears, tugging him back to hover directly above the tip of his cock, rubbing it gently against the slick flesh.

“It's okay, sweetheart,” his brother murmurs, and Hiro eases back with a needy moan, mouth trembling as the head of his prick spreads him open, easing in agonizingly slow. If not for his little brother's shivery mewls and squirms, Hiro could almost be sitting innocently on his lap. “That's it, baby, take every inch of it.”

He lets Hiro rock up and slide down at his own pace, supporting him with two strong hands until Hiro is almost three inches from bottoming out entirely; without warning, he pulls his hands away and lets Hiro slide down abruptly. His little brother squeezes tightly around him with a sharp, startled cry, and Tadashi hums and moans at the sensation, letting him calm and adjust for a minute.

Hiro gives a shuddering whimper, and Tadashi sucks sloppy, red-bitten marks into his neck, running his hands comfortingly over the taut laces of the corset as his younger brother clenches around the intrusion, crying out each time he rocks up into the tight warmth. Tadashi leans back slightly for leverage, and pushes his hips up, feet digging into the mattress.

“You look so beautiful, baby girl,” he croons, and Hiro whines, letting his head fall back against his older brother's shoulder. “All wrapped up nice and pretty for me.” He strokes his fingers lightly along the trapped shaft of his brother's cock, fingering the tip through the lace, and Hiro jerks and mewls, clenching spasmodically around him. “Feel good, sugar?”

“ _Big,”_ Hiro sobs, squeezing around his brother as he shudders and writhes about. “Please, please, please, n-need—I need—”

“Come on, sweetie,” Tadashi whispers, nudging his fingers underneath the flimsy skirt and trailing his fingers around the protruding bones of Hiro's hips, tantalizingly close to the base of his leaking, twitching erection. _“Beg for it.”_

“ _Touch me,”_ Hiro pleads, and Tadashi obliges, wrapping his hand around Hiro's prick and thrusting up with a soft moan.

“You're such a good girl,” Tadashi murmurs distractedly, enjoying the way Hiro gasps shakily at the words and tightens around him when he grinds his hips in circles gently. “My little sweetheart, you're so good for me, you know that?”

Hiro's breaths come out as frantic moans, eyes glassy, tears leaving thin, quickly drying tracks on his rosy cheeks and sweat trailing down flushed skin. “Ta—ahh, ahhnn~Tadash—” He cuts off in a shaky cry, arching forward off his brother's lap and throwing his hands out to catch himself before he faceplants in the bed. Tadashi follows him down, thrusts quick and hard and unforgiving until Hiro's limbs tremble and collapse, fucks him mercilessly into the bed.

The slide is mind-numbing, all-encompassing; in this position, his front fully pressed against the bed and his prick forcibly ground against the sheets, there is nothing for Hiro to focus on but his brother's too-big cock stretching his slick little pucker wide, pushing impossibly deep, every other thrust slipping along his prostate and sending sparks shooting up his spine.

“Nii-chan, Nii-chan—please—” There are tears streaming unbidden down his face, and he keens, breath heaving out of his lungs in sharp, wet cries.

“Come on, Hiro,” Tadashi croons, grinding down forcefully in sharp circles, and Hiro shudders, clenching spasmodically around him. “Come for me, baby girl.” He pulls back and slams in hard, the head of his cock rubbing hard against Hiro's prostate.

Hiro comes with a startled scream, back arching hard, and his prick spurts between his torso and his bed, ruining his sheets. Tadashi inhales sharply and shoves in deep, moaning as the soft muscles clench down tight, milking the seed that pulses from his cock. Hiro wails, writhing and sobbing beneath him, entire body seizing before he goes limp.

Tadashi presses tiny kisses all along his shoulder, nipping lightly at the back of his neck. “So good, sweetheart. My sweet little girl.” Tadashi rolls off, pulling him into his arms and nuzzling his cheek.

“Fuckin' hell,” Hiro groans beneath him, and struggles to push himself up by his hands, arms trembling. He brushes at the lingering tears on his cheeks, and turns to stare at his brother, dumbfounded.

The reality of what he's just done seems to hit Tadashi, and his face grows steadily redder, hands spasming as he reaches for Hiro, embarrassed squeaks spilling from his throat.

“Hiro, I—I'm so sorry, I didn't mean—”

Hiro lets his brother gather him to his chest, eyes wide and chest heaving. “That was …” Hiro manages, face still buried in his blankets. _“Amazing.”_

Tadashi's face turns maroon. “Well.” He coughs awkwardly and squirms. “I mean.”

His little brother manages to prop himself up at his elbows, eyes bright with excitement. “I should wear these clothes more often!”

“Wh-what? Hiro—”

“What do you think of me in a seifuku? Aunt Cass already has one, but I feel like it would be a bad idea to take hers, plus it's not actually super cute—oh, how about a white one with a red bow? I think I have the ribbons to match that I can put in my hair …”

“Uhm, Hiro—”

“I'll have to grow it out a little if I want to put it up—but how great would pigtails be?” Hiro throws his arms around Tadashi's shoulders, eyes bright with excitement. “I'm so glad we had this talk!”

A bead of sweat trails down his brow, and he smiles nervously at his little brother. No, this night had certainly not gone as he'd planned.

_Well, shit._

**Author's Note:**

> i should be guilty for things that i feel absolutely no guilt for  
> ... i'll go to my corner


End file.
